


The Hardest Part

by longhairandbarefeet



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Unrequited Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:38:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4905766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhairandbarefeet/pseuds/longhairandbarefeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Jon's wedding looming, Sansa expresses her feelings for him after getting drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Part

“Do you remember what you said?” I posed the question with a gentle smile and a soft voice.

He looked up from his black bow tie to gaze at me. I was running my fingers over the crooked tie to level it. I then patted his shoulders and ran my hands down the length of his chest.

“How could I forget?”

“Humor me then,” I said walking over to the chair by the vanity and taking a seat. I looked at my reflection and at him through the mirror. He looked at mine through the mirror too. 

“I love you,” Jon spoke candidly. I felt the knot form in my throat at his blissful honesty. “I will always love you.”

He walked closer to me and leaned beside of me. Our faces were inches apart and his dark grey eyes were focusing on my weakening smile. He placed his pointer finger on the corner of my lips and attempted to reawaken it. 

“I didn’t realize it would hurt this much,” I said forcing the smile again. This day was marked on my calendar for months. I was apart of this. I was a fucking bridesmaid.

“I’m not finished.” Jon said. “I will always love you…” he paused resonantly. “There is no one like you. I wish things were different and I wish, I wish that I would have known.” He stuttered out the last part. I knew I should have probably kept my feelings a secret, but champagne and orange juice two nights before made me regurgitate more than the contents of my stomach.

“How could you not have known?” I spoke succinctly.

“There is no good answer for that San.” He said looking down at his hands. “Maybe I always knew and I was scared.”

“You do have coward like tendencies.” I joked back. His eyes sparkled at me the way they always do.

The night I told him that it was more than love between friends he didn’t respond with rejection or rejoice in my confession. He sat in silence for what felt like eternity and held my hand loosely. We sat in my dimly lit bedroom after the rehearsal dinner.

I was already sick from the alcohol, but the realization that I told Jon was what caused the heaving to actually occur. I ran to my bathroom and closed and locked the door behind me. I released what little contents I had in my stomach and pressed my cheek to the tile floor. The cold brought the comfort I was lacking.

“Sansa, are you okay?” I heard the light knock of Jon on the door and I responded with a shallow groan.

“Open the door.” He said sternly. I ignored him for a moment before realizing how unfair this was to him. He didn’t owe me anything. We weren’t together, and we never were.

“Fine.” I said lifting my body up enough to wiggle the handle to unlock it. I pressed my face back to the floor as he slowly walked in and sat Indian style adjacent to the toilet and me. He was holding a glass of water and medicine.

“You never drink.” He said point blank. He was right. I slightly sat up and stuck the pills in my mouth. I swallowed them after I gulped the glass of cold water. It felt like a simple relief as I resumed my current position.

“There’s reason to celebrate.” I said manically, it was way too manically for my given state.

“Why did you wait so long Sansa?” Jon said defeated. I had my eyes closed tightly until that moment and I finally found myself opening them to look into his.

“It never felt right before.”

He moved and slid the rug away from beside of me to make room for him. He laid his face beside mine and grazed his finger across my cheek.

“Don’t get close to me.” I made a distorted face. “I smell like vomit and rejection.”

“You are being silly.” He said getting even closer to me. I was still wearing the stupid dress from the dinner and it was beginning to suffocate me.

“Help me.” I said sitting up and turning my back to him. He understood, sat up, and began to unzip the tight dress. I finally felt like I could breathe as he reached the bottom. He grazed his fingers up my spine and breathed out. I slid off the dress and continued to lay in my small black slip.

“I love you, Sansa.” He said and I nodded.

“I know. You love me like a friend.” I said continuing his train of thought. He didn’t have to spare my feelings. I already knew he loved me that way. It was perfunctory and isolating.

“No.” Jon spoke again. “I love you like I am suppose to love Margaery.”

“What?” I responded feeling the need to throw up again. I was so sure this was unrequited. That it was stupid and one sided.

“I love you. I shouldn’t be marrying Margaery because of how much.” He repeated it and I felt the guilt suddenly hit me. Margaery. The beautiful and wonderful woman that was oblivious to this moment we were sharing. We were friends since high school. She met Jon first. She would ooze about his knowledge on French Literature and the way he would make her laugh when he whispered limericks in her ear. He was hers. I had no claim on him and here I was trying to stake it.

“Jon, you just…” I breathed deeply without a hint of dejection.

“I know. “ He looked down at his hands. He was rubbing them together anxiously. “I just needed you to know that this,” He pointed at me and back at him. “It was real.”

“I always thought it was.” I rustled his black hair and rubbed my hands over his face. I needed to remember it. I longed to feel the stubble on his cheeks after he didn’t shave for two days and the tired wrinkles from around his eyes when he wouldn’t get his eight hours of sleep. I needed to feel that intimacy. I was envious of the times Margaery would touch him casually. It was without thought when she would do it.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked absently and then shook his head. “That wouldn’t be right would it?”

“Probably not.” I said grabbing the collar of his shirt and thumbing it to give him time to pull away, he didn’t. I leaned in and pressed my dry lips to his. It didn’t last more than a few seconds. I still smelled like old alcohol, but I didn’t care and it didn’t seem like he did either. This was our one chance.

We pulled away slow and pressed our foreheads together. It was quiet. I didn’t want to move from this position or escape this moment. Once we did it wouldn’t be real anymore.

“Showtime’s in five minutes Jon.” The best man, Sam knocked on the door and knocked me out of my reverie.

“We’re coming.” He replied. My face fell. I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready to let this happen.

Sam nodded and closed the door behind him. Jon refocused his attention on me, and grabbed my hands as I tapped nervously on the arm of the chair.

“We have to go. She is probably looking for you.” He said nervously twitching out a smile.

I simply nodded and we both stood up. I let go of his hands and wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled me close and I smelled his cologne and the lingering scent of the shot of Jack Daniels he took to calm his nerves.

“She is one lucky girl.” I said wiping a stray tear from my cheek. It must have escaped from my eye. “She gets to hear your pretentious musings on Charles Baudelaire…all in French.”

“Well he will someday be lucky too,” Jon said laughing. He was referring to this person I wasn’t sure existed for me. “He gets to hear your deranged ramblings about extra terrestrials and Stephen Hawking.”

“You told me you liked that documentary.” I said confused.

“I liked it because you liked it.” Jon clarified. He was too close. I just wanted to feel him.

“Tell me again.” I said.

“I love you.” He reached over and kissed me. This was something we didn’t agree on. It was something we were against completely just minutes ago. I didn’t care though, because it was a kiss that didn’t occur on my bathroom floor sandwiched between a toilet and trashcan. It was warm and sweet. His mouth tasted like that piece of home someone can’t return to because it’s gone forever.

He pulled away slowly and whispered. “I will always love you.”

“I know, I just wish it were enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing this. It is so angsty and is inspired by "The Hardest Part" by Nina Nesbitt. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought.


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